


Head-Turner

by Farasha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Awkward Boners, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Praise Kink, Riding, Sexual Fantasy, Sexuality Crisis, Thighs, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: Five times someone jerked off to fantasies of Yuuri Katsuki (and one time Yuuri gets to watch).





	1. Phichit

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing and other tags will get added with future chapters.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Yuuri's thighs, because damn.

Phichit would have to live under a rock to not know who Yuuri Katsuki is. Sure, his performances in competition are inconsistent and he hasn't done as well on the international stage as, say, Christophe Giacometti (or Victor Nikiforov, but Phichit privately believes Nikiforov isn't human, so anyone comparing themselves to him is pointless), but he's Japan's top figure skater, their national champion for a few years running. Phichit has kept an eye on Katsuki as potential competition. Like Phichit, his strengths are in his PCS instead of TES. If he can ever get over what's going on with his consistency, he's going to be a real threat.

So Phichit is a basket case when he finds out he's going to be _roommates_ with Katsuki while they're both training in Detroit. He's barely been able to wrap his head around being rinkmates with a four-time national champion, and now he's going to be sharing a tiny student apartment with him. 

It leads him down a rabbit hole of attempting to stalk Katsuki's social media - attempting, because it seems that Katsuki is a ghost on the internet. He only appears in other skaters' pictures. He has a Twitter and an Instagram but both are relatively empty - the tweets are in Japanese and translate badly, and the Instagram has only one picture, of a beach dusted lightly with snow, tagged #home.

Phichit is dying to meet him in person by the time the season ends and Katsuki is set to arrive. Katsuki missed the final in the Grand Prix series this year, but he placed twelfth at Four Continents, which is higher than Phichit imagines he himself will place when he gets to seniors. Phichit is coming off a lackluster year, too - he grew a few inches over the last off season, and it had messed with his jump takeoffs. He's looking forward to working with Katsuki, who always comes back for more even when he bombs. Phichit admires his dedication.

It's a lot less professional and a lot more embarrassing when he does meet Katsuki and realizes he admires _other things_ too. Because, well, Phichit likes boys, especially boys who are athletes, and Yuuri Katsuki's thighs are a gift to the planet.

He tries desperately to play it cool, because he's pretty sure that if Yuuri ever catches on to the fact that Phichit stares a little when he comes off the ice all sweaty and disheveled, he'll run. That's what's most surprising about Yuuri, aside from _thighs_ and _arms_ and _holy shit abs_ ; the way he shies away from any and all attempts to get him to be social, friendly, or otherwise interact with other humans. Phichit has always been an extrovert, and he finds it a little puzzling and more than a little disappointing the third time Yuuri turns him down when Phichit invites him out.

"Come onnnn, you can't tell me you're going to spend your time in America hiding in the apartment," Phichit teases, leaning against Yuuri's bedroom door.

Yuuri just shakes his head. "I don't drink in public. And we have training tomorrow."

"Boo, too responsible." Phichit takes his career seriously, he does, but he's also eighteen and like hell is he going to let the opportunity to Experience American College pass him by.

"I'm sure you'll have fun without me," Yuuri says, and Phichit can hear how he's saying it'll probably be _more_ fun without him even if Yuuri doesn't come right out with it.

Not for the first time, he thinks maybe he should just go kiss Yuuri, so that Yuuri gets the idea that people actually do like him. He doesn't seem to know.

Instead, he goes out with some of their other rinkmates, who are students at University of Michigan. He drinks too much of whatever is in Trash Can Punch (thankfully not made in an actual trash can) and stumbles home later than he should.

Yuuri is still awake. That's not really the surprising part; Yuuri is awake at weird hours all the time. The surprising part is that Yuuri has apparently just gotten out of the shower, and Phichit knows this because Yuuri's naked ass is facing the door when Phichit fumbles it open.

Yuuri has a towel, but he's using it to scrub his hair dry, which leaves the rest of his body deliciously visible. He was obviously just leaving the shower and going into his room. He doesn't jump or scream or anything when Phichit comes in, just calmly pulls the towel off his head and swings it around his waist.

"Sorry," he says, and he doesn't sound nearly as embarrassed as Phichit would be if he was caught in the same situation. "I was just headed to bed."

"Uhuh," Phichit says, and staggers toward his room before his traitor eyes can keep lingering on Yuuri's shoulders and his bare back and _thighs_ , those thighs are not allowed. He shuts his door and falls into bed and rolls over to stare at the ceiling. His worldview apparently needs to shift, because his roommate, who tries to find an escape route out of every conversation not about skating (or Nikiforov, who Yuuri is obsessed with), has no body shyness and this is going to kill him.

He doesn't regret drinking so much anymore, because at least his dick isn't getting interested in the situation, and he passes out quick.

The next morning, Yuuri does try to wake him up for practice. Phichit throws something at him - a stuffed hamster, he discovers later - and rolls over, mumbling about Ciao Ciao letting him be an irresponsible teenager for once. Yuuri doesn't push, which Phichit appreciates. Yuuri never judges him or tries to older-sibling at him, even though he is older.

When he wakes up later - really wakes up, after a shower and tea and breakfast - the first thing he remembers clearly from the night before is Yuuri's ass.

"Nooo," Phichit groans, flopping backward onto his bed with his hands pressed over his eyes. It was bad enough before, when he just had Yuuri in shorts and tank tops to fill his mind's eye. Yuuri naked should be a crime, especially for people who don't get to kiss him. Because Phichit is _not stupid_ and that wouldn't be anywhere near the realm of smart decision making.

Still. It doesn't stop the image of Yuuri from taking over his thoughts, specifically Yuuri's ass. Phichit honestly could have done without that, thank you, because now all he can think of is how that lean muscle would feel under his hands, and he had a hard enough time already with Yuuri's criminal thighs.

He's hard. Phichit stares down at himself, annoyed at his dick's bad manners. He can't jerk off to his roommate, that's just awkward, and probably rude.

Maybe if he just does it once. Maybe it'll get it out of his system, and he can go on with trying to make friends with Yuuri without spending half the time keeping himself from drooling. Besides, it would take someone inhuman to resist how hot Yuuri is.

Phichit pulls his shirt up and his pants down, bare from his chest to his thighs, and closes his eyes, thinking about Yuuri being amazingly naked and in the same room as he wraps his hand around his dick.

The fantasy almost falls apart right away, because he knows what Yuuri is like, and the Yuuri in his head turns red and starts to back out of Phichit's room before he can get to any of the good stuff. Phichit is usually very imaginative. Maybe it's because it's Yuuri, and he knows Yuuri.

He takes a deep breath, strokes himself a little, and tries imagining again. Yuuri isn't naked this time. Instead, he's just come home and Phichit is jerking off just like this.

"Yuuri," Phichit sighs, his mind running away with the fantasy. The Yuuri he's imagining turns red in this variation too, his eyes round, but Phichit isn't about to let his traitor logic brain ruin it. "Yuuri, you're so hot."

Mind Yuuri still tries to protest, which makes Phichit laugh a little. Jerking off to someone he knows is unexpectedly complicated. He scrambles around for a way to keep the scene going.

"You don't even know." Phichit strokes himself a little harder, letting his hips roll up into his hand. "You're so- Yuuri, come kiss me. Bet I could make you come first."

Mind Yuuri looks honestly offended at that. Phichit laughs again, because who knew Yuuri's competitive streak would be what works for him here? Then the scene jumps, and Yuuri is on the bed with him, his hands braced on either side of Phichit's head. He has the same cool look on his face as he does when he's about to take the ice, and Phichit's whole body heats up, the fantasy going from silly and playful to scorching hot in seconds.

Yuuri watching him, even if it's just imaginary, _does things_ for him that he might want to think about sometime later. Phichit bites his lip to contain a noise that could have gotten a little too loud, a low moan he's never made before while doing this. He runs his fingers down his chest, imagining it's Yuuri doing it, the touch light enough to be ticklish. Would Yuuri be shy in bed? Phichit isn't sure, and he isn't sure that's the fantasy he wants, anyway. He decides Yuuri just likes to touch, and pinches one of his nipples.

He wonders for a second if it wouldn't be better to just do it quickly and get it over with, but that seems like a waste. It's not often Phichit has the apartment to himself. So he slows down, dragging the palm of his hand over the shaft of his cock. It's a little too dry, so Phichit licks at the palm of his hand while he's still playing with his nipples.

Mind Yuuri is watching him more intently, now, but he still has all his clothes on. Phichit imagines asking him to take them off, _Please Yuuri, I want to see you, your body is amazing_. Mind Yuuri starts with his pants, because Phichit has priorities.

He imagines Yuuri kneeling over him, bare from the waist down, the muscles in his thighs bunching as he moves. Phichit's mouth is watering - if Yuuri really was in bed with him, he'd want his mouth on all that pale, smooth skin and all the power coiled under it. Mind Yuuri strips his shirt off, too, and Phichit's hand speeds up. He lingers around the head of his dick, his thumb rubbing over the tip. Phichit has a brief moment of regret that he didn't catch Yuuri facing front and doesn't know what his cock looks like, because right now he has a hazy image of Yuuri getting hard that doesn't match the precise detail of the rest of his fantasy.

So, _turn around_ , he says to Yuuri in his head, and Yuuri does. Now all Phichit can see is the lean line of his back and that glorious ass. He doesn't even want to fuck Yuuri, if he's totally honest. He's content just looking, marveling at the way his body fits together and the ripple of strength in a deceptively fragile package. Phichit wonders what it would feel like to slip his cock into the tight grip of Yuuri's thighs.

That thought makes him gasp, arch off the bed, and come all over his stomach. The fantasy of Yuuri kneeling above him dissolves from his mind in favor of the wave of hot pleasure from his orgasm, tingling through his chest, his stomach, and down into his toes. He's buzzing like he's drunk again, and his body feels satisfied and languid.

Phichit wipes his hand on his shirt, pulls it off, and cleans up the mess on his stomach before tossing it at the hamper. He hopes he makes it in, because he doesn't want to step on it later when it's all crusty and dried, but he's too sleepy with satisfaction to go check. He rolls over, working his sweatpants back up over his hips, and sprawls out on the bed to go to sleep. He's going to need about a day of buffer before he can look Yuuri in the eye without blushing, and besides, he's still hung over.

He can already tell, though, that this isn't going to be the last time he imagines compromising situations with Yuuri. He can't be blamed, because his roommate is athletic perfection and Phichit is only human - a teenage human.

Phichit sternly tells himself that this is going to stay between him and his right hand, because Yuuri doesn't need him making things awkward around the apartment. It's not the last thought he takes down with him into sleep, though. That's reserved for more fantasizing about Yuuri's thighs wrapped around him.


	2. Christophe

The elevator near the banquet hall has made four trips upstairs, ferrying drunken skaters and coaches back to their rooms by the handful. Chris shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he waits, his suit jacket folded over his arm, hanging down to hide the front of his pants.

Chris has been to _after parties_ that weren't as wild as the Grand Prix Final banquet in Sochi - and out of the many, many banquets he's been to in his career, none of them had ever left him trying to walk down the hall to his room with an erection.

Yuuri Katsuki isn't the type of person he would have pegged for being the cause of either, but as they say, _in vino veritas_. There's something utterly alluring about the way he'd been so carefree and determined to have fun. Chris wouldn't have been able to resist that if he tried - he'd been flirting with Yuuri, but as the night had worn on, Yuuri's eyes had always gone back to Victor. Chris can't blame him, not when Victor is beauty and physical perfection wrapped up in graciousness like a bow.

The memory of Yuuri's body curled around the pole still lingers in his mind, though, and his cock isn't going soft anytime soon. Yuuri had been grace in motion as he danced, obviously as experienced or more in that arena as on the ice. Chris takes comfort from the fact that he's more skilled on the pole - he remembers Yuuri's eyes lighting up with a competitive gleam each time Chris had pulled off one of the more difficult poses, remembers the way Yuuri had hooked his ankle and knee around the pole, arching his back until his hair brushed his toes.

Chris slips into the elevator alongside Sara Crispino, her brother, an ice dance pair whose names Chris forgets, and their coaches. Chris stands in the back, staring up at the ceiling and hoping nobody will back into him.

Sara is laughing about Yuuri in the elevator. Chris doesn't speak very much Italian, but he catches Yuuri's name and an admiring tone. Yuuri seems to have left half the international community smitten and the other half scandalized, if the look on Michele's face is any indication. It's an entirely different side of the shy, reserved skater Chris has come to know from competitions. He would have called Yuuri aloof before tonight. Now, that seems like the farthest thing from the truth.

Yuuri is still on his mind by the time he gets back to his room, and his cock is still a problem. Chris is nothing if not indulgent, though, and a performance like what Yuuri's given him deserves proper appreciation.

So he's slow in taking off his clothes. He lets his tie slither out of his shirt collar and land on the floor. He lays back on the bed and starts by touching, slow and sensual, his fingertips lingering on his collarbones and the line of his shirt buttons.

Chris tips his head back and runs his fingers along the line of his jaw, feeling a hint of stubble. He pops the first button of his shirt open with his finger and thumb.

Yuuri hadn't been trying to seduce anyone, Chris is sure. That just makes it hotter. Yuuri's personal life is a mystery, his publicity entirely focused on his career. Chris can imagine how flustered he'd get if he realized Chris was flirting. The champagne had put a pretty flush on his cheeks. Chris imagines that flush again now, imagines Yuuri nervous but determined, imagined it's Yuuri's fingers slowly opening the line of buttons down his shirt.

Chris shrugs out of the shirt and tosses it aside. He's hard enough that there's a tent in his suit pants, but for now he leaves them on. He slides his hands over his abs, up across his chest. He pictures Yuuri tracing his muscles with his tongue, dipping it into his belly button. Yuuri's dark eyes dart up to Chris's face every now and again, like he's making sure he's doing it right.

"Yuuri, yes," Chris sighs, his lips curling up in a smile that's probably a little smug. It would be a feat to manage to actually get Yuuri in bed with him, but that doesn't mean he can't think about it. In detail.

"I want you to ride me," he says, his fingers dipping under the waistband of his pants. He pops the button and drags the zipper down. His cock is aching to be touched, but denial is half the fun. "I want to see you move."

Yuuri in motion is a beautiful thing to see. Chris thinks of the lines of his body as he danced, the powerful flex of his thighs around the pole, the way he'd stripped off his shirt to reveal a slim, flat stomach. His skin would be soft, Chris thinks. He imagines touching Yuuri in turn, his fingers tweaking Yuuri's nipples until he's gasping and grinding down into Chris's lap.

Chris kicks his pants off, leaving him in his briefs. He touches himself through the cloth, rolling his hips up into the palm of his hand. His cock is damp at the tip. Chris decides the time for going slow is done - just that one touch reminds him he's been hard off and on for hours, ever since Yuuri's face had gotten so close to his on the pole that he felt Yuuri's breath against his cheek. He could have kissed Yuuri then, made a show of it for the whole room and made everyone jealous of what they were missing.

He imagines kissing Yuuri now. It's slow and sensual, their bare chests together, smooth skin against smooth skin. He works his briefs down and off, leaving him splayed out and naked on the bed.

Chris moans aloud when he takes his cock in hand, stroking slowly. He reaches down with his other hand and cups his balls, gentle pressure that makes him thrust into his fist. He thinks of Yuuri sliding slowly down the length of him until his beautiful, fuckable ass rests on Chris's thighs. He imagines Yuuri's head thrown back, his back arched in a beautiful curve. He starts to stroke his cock, thinking of the muscles in Yuuri's thighs bunching and releasing as he rides Chris, his hands tangled in his own hair and those dark, gorgeous eyes on Chris's face.

"Oh, beautiful," Chris moans. He slows down again, enjoying the fantasy playing out behind his closed eyelids. Yuuri leans down to kiss him again, and Chris thinks of how Yuuri's hair would feel between his fingers. He thinks of settling his hands on Yuuri's slender hips, picking him up and sliding him back down on Chris's cock. Yuuri makes a sound, a little one right in Chris's ear. Chris wonders what he'd say during sex, what kind of noises he would make. Would he try to hold back, or would he let loose like he had at the banquet?

Chris falls into the image of Yuuri riding him with enthusiasm, sitting straight up in Chris's lap again and giving Chris a perfect view of Yuuri's cock, bouncing every time he lets Chris pull him back down. Yuuri doesn't touch it and Chris doesn't either - he thinks of Yuuri wanting to outlast him, to seduce him and use his dick until Chris can't go anymore. Yuuri, after all, had danced all night and still had the energy to keep up with Chris on the pole. Chris wonders how much of that stamina translates to the bedroom. He would love to find out.

His hand speeds up on his cock again, and he starts rocking his other hand against his balls, a sure way to get himself off hard and satisfying. In his fantasy Yuuri is panting with his mouth open, the pretty blush spread from his face down his neck. Chris bucks his hips into the grip of his hand, imagining it's Yuuri, and thinks it would make Yuuri moan his name in that adorable, soft accent.

Chris makes a lot of noise when he's in bed, and it's no exception when he's alone. He's moaning now, deep and unashamed, the hotel room filled with his voice and the sound of his hand on his cock. He thinks of telling Yuuri how much he's imagined fucking him and watching Yuuri go even redder, leaning down to brace himself on Chris's chest with both hands and bouncing harder on his cock.

"Yuuri," Chris moans again, thinking of Yuuri's cock leaving little smears of precome on his stomach, Yuuri's perfect dancer ass tight around his cock. He could let this fantasy go on forever - they're athletes, they can go for hours with their conditioning. He wonders what Yuuri would look like, sweaty and delirious with too much pleasure, his mouth wet from kissing.

Chris can feel himself getting close, his moans coming on the end of harsh gasps. He gets Yuuri off first in the fantasy, because it's polite and because at heart he has a deep appreciation for aesthetics. Yuuri makes breathy little sounds when Chris jerks him off, shuddering on Chris's cock and coming over Chris's abs. He doesn't stop riding Chris through it, though he bites his lip like it's too much for him.

It's that, the mental image of Yuuri post-orgasm and still taking Chris with abandon, that makes him come. The warm splash of come on his stomach is real instead of imaginary this time. Chris lets go of himself, always too sensitive immediately after, and drags his fingers through his come, spreading sticky trails across his skin.

He's breathing hard when he comes down from it, and now his body remembers how drunk he is and how sleepy that makes him. Chris forces himself to stagger into the bathroom and run a quick shower, rinsing off the sweat from dancing and the come from his stomach.

Yuuri Katsuki is full of surprises. Maybe next time they're in the same city, Chris will test his theory about how furiously Yuuri would blush if he came onto him. The worst that could happen is Yuuri being too shy to say yes, and Chris can live with that. He has the memories of tonight, and he feels like those will last him quite a while.


	3. Yuri

Japan, Yuri discovers pretty rapidly, is a lot different than Russia. It's not even the big things like the language and driving on the left side of the road - Victor and the pig both speak English, even if Katsudon's family doesn't, and Yuri doesn't drive. It's the little things, like kneeling on the floor around the dinner table, Mari's epic stink eye when Yuri forgets to take his sneakers off inside, and _bathing in groups_.

He's watched the piggy skate more times than he can count, stalking streams of his performances and critiquing every flubbed jump and downgraded combination. The Sochi Grand Prix had been fucking frustrating, the worst meltdown Yuri had seen out of him yet, and finding him crying in the bathroom like he was ready to give up had been unnerving.

Yuri figures out pretty quick that Katsudon can go from looking like someone has crushed his heart to getting back up and trying again in seconds. If the banquet hadn't made that clear to Yuri already, training with him in Hasetsu does. It's obvious from the way he pushes himself so hard, often slipping away to the Ice Castle after dinner, when the rest of them are ready to turn in for bed. It's in the way he starts to flag after running two miles and then firms up his jaw and goes for a third.

Yuri sees it, too, in the mottled canvas of bruises his skin becomes while they're training, each and every one of which Yuri has seen with his own eyes, because of fucking bathing in groups.

He can't deny that the hot spring is the perfect thing for worn out muscles after a long day of training, and usually Yuri is just too tired to think about anything but how much he hurts all over. He's got his own fair share of bruises and strained muscles, though not as many. Learning a program in a week's time is brutal, but Victor's infuriating face when he'd called Yuri _mediocre and ordinary_ pushes him on. He wonders what Katsuki thinks about when he needs that last reserve of strength.

Today, though, they've only had light training. Onsen on Ice is tomorrow, and Yuri is pretty sure he's nailed his program. Katsudon looks withdrawn and contemplative, like he's struggling to find the connection between himself and Eros. Yuri still can't believe it, because he'd seen enough of the pig being sexy to last him a lifetime in Sochi. The fact that his eyes get intense when he's focusing so hard on something, and that intense look goes right to Yuri's gut, is completely irrelevant.

He still has to whip his towel around his waist quickly to hide his boner when he finally gets out.

"Ready to lose tomorrow?" Yuri can't resist taunting.

Katsudon looks up at him with his eyebrows raised and a tiny, assured smile on his face. It's the same look he had when Yuri first got to Hasetsu, the one that says he is completely unimpressed.

"Are you?" he asks, and Yuri feels his cheeks heat up.

"I'm not going to lose," he snaps, cursing himself in his head for the stupid comeback as he stomps off to change into his clothes. Winding the piggy up was supposed to take his mind off his stupid dick, but instead it's _that look_ that keeps him half-hard all the way back to his room upstairs.

Yuri has only seen it a few times, when Yuuri's confidence peeks through his reserved exterior. He'd seen it in Sochi, just before Yuuri had jabbed his finger in Yuri's face and drunkenly challenged him to a dance off. After which Yuuri had gotten nearly naked and pole danced with _Christophe Giacometti_.

This time, Yuri's brain can't stop circling around the fact that they'd been all the way naked in the hot spring, and Yuuri had looked at him like Yuri was a cute little kitten trying to show claws. It should make him feel humiliated. Instead, he just feels hot, and his dick is fully hard again, between remembering the contortions of Yuuri's body on the pole and that fucking look in his eyes.

It would be so much easier if Yuri didn't know what Yuuri looked like naked, but because of stupid Japan and his stupid family owning a fucking hot spring of all things, he does. Yuri could roll over and try to sleep with his cock straining against the mattress, but with a competitive skate tomorrow, tossing around until all hours because he's too stubborn to jerk off is counterproductive.

So he throws the thin blanket off and sprawls out across the futon. He sleeps naked, something he always did in Russia and doesn't see the need to stop doing here - it's not like people care about seeing each other naked here, and nobody is going to walk in on him.

Yuuri's eyes are the first thing he thinks about when his hand touches his dick. He almost stops, because it's kind of pathetic to jerk off to his fucking competition, but if he's brutally honest with himself it's not like this is the first time. Yuri has a whole album of pictures from Sochi on his phone, and he'll go to the grave before he admits it, but he's thumbed through that gallery with his dick in his hand before.

Now it's different. With Yuuri just a few doors down from him, it all feels more immediate. It's not much of a stretch to think about Yuuri in bed with him, settled on top of Yuri like a living blanket. Yuuri is propped up on his elbows, his legs between Yuri's thighs and their naked cocks pressed together.

Yuri strangles back a moan and stuffs the fingers of his other hand in his mouth. The piercing look in Yuuri's eyes makes his skin feel warm and sensitive, like his gaze is a caress on Yuri's body. Yuri's other hand moves quick and frantic over his dick, wanting this over with as fast as possible.

Because his brain is an evil bastard just like his cock, Yuuri's stupid sexy smirk gets wider.

"Are you going to be done so soon?" he asks, and Yuri can almost hear the voice in his ear.

Yuri makes a muffled, indignant noise around his fingers. His fantasy is making fun of him. That isn't supposed to be allowed.

For the sake of getting some sleep, he slows down and plays along. Obviously this is some bullshit that's taken root in his head from jerking off to Yuuri too much, but he'll think about that after his performance. If ever.

Yuuri kisses him in his fantasy, because Yuuri seems like the kissing type. Yuri doesn't know when he'd started thinking so much about what Yuuri would be like in bed, but he can't seem to stop. He thinks Yuuri's lips would be soft, that he would kiss with slow determination. His breath puffs over the backs of his knuckles. Keeping himself to slow, even strokes is driving him crazy, but not half as much as the clear mental image he has of Yuuri's closed eyes, his lips pink from kissing, his body rocking against Yuri's. It's so hot Yuri can't even stand it.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth and sucks his lip in between his teeth instead, keeping the noises he's making muffled. He's flexible enough to bend his knee almost to his forehead, reaching under his thigh to press a wet finger inside himself. He needs to get off so he can sleep, and nothing gets him off harder than something in his ass.

His fantasy changes again. Yuri nearly bites through his lip. Now Yuuri is sitting back on his heels, stroking Yuri's cock with one hand and fingering him with the other. He's watching his fingers disappear into Yuri's body with that rapt, intense look of concentration.

Yuri moans loud enough that biting his lip can't contain it. He takes his hand off his dick for an excruciating second to find the corner of the blanket and shoves it in his mouth. When his hand closes around himself again, he twists his wrist and pushes another finger inside.

He imagines Yuuri saying his name. Not Yurio, the stupid nickname they've saddled him with.

"Yuri," he says, in that knowing, challenging tone from before. Yuri's teeth clench around a moan, the blanket muffling the sound.

"Yuri," Yuuri says again, almost crooning it now, like he's trying to seduce. Yuri's only memory of Yuuri being seductive is when he and Victor had danced in Sochi, but apparently his brain is extrapolating because it's an asshole like that.

Yuri comes before he even realizes it's happening, as he strokes himself slower than he ever has the patience for and imagines it's Yuuri doing it. It's like something pulled out of him, teased and coaxed instead of hurriedly forced, which is more his usual habit. He's shuddering with aftershocks, his fingers still inside himself, too sensitive to keep going but loving it too much to stop.

He feels wrung out, so exhausted he doesn't even bother to clean up, just rolls over and goes to sleep with come sticking to him.

He wakes up feeling gross but oddly energized, like he's gotten something out of his system. Katsudon is the last thing on his mind as he's changing into his costume, stretching, warming up. Yuri feels settled and focused, the wild energy of the night before purged out of him.

The feeling lasts until he's done with his own performance and Yuuri has taken his place in the center of the rink. Yuuri's body twists in the opening strokes of the guitar like it's made of music itself, and then throws a sensual, flirty smirk out to the audience that stops Yuri's breath in his chest.

It's like something right out of his fantasy, and Yuri knows in that second he's lost, but he can't tear his eyes away.

Under the circumstances, he feels perfectly justified in fleeing back to Russia on the first flight out.


	4. Minami

Minami knows that every junior skater has a senior or two they look up to, admire, and try to emulate. He also knows that those same junior skaters have always, without fail, looked confused when Minami names Katsuki Yuuri as his idol.

But it's not about the medals, or the recognition, or being the best. Katsuki-kun is Minami's idol because he keeps trying no matter what. His best performances usually come after his worst setbacks. His most beautiful free skates have been after disastrous short programs. Katsuki-kun is the type of person who never gives up, and Minami is going to do his best, because Katsuki-kun deserves to have someone striving after his legacy.

He doesn't know what to expect before he meets Katsuki-kun in person - again, technically, but he doesn't really expect Katsuki-kun to remember him from last year's Nationals. He knows Katsuki-kun is coming off of a difficult season, of course. He knows Katsuki-kun's theme this season is 'love,' and that it's practically dedicated to his coach - who is _Victor Nikiforov_.

Minami has been dying to not only see what Katsuki-kun would be skating this season, but to speak to him in person and tell him how much Minami has always admired him.

The reality is something of a letdown, at first. Minami thinks maybe he came on too strong - after all, Katsuki-kun is notorious for being solitary and avoiding his fans. It still hurts, to see Katsuki-kun pull that face at Minami's costume, like he's seeing an embarrassing relic from his past. Minami can feel his face fall, and then he feels his competitive fire wake up.

Later, when he's staring at the ceiling of his hotel room replaying the conversation in his head, he'll have a quiet heart attack that he had challenged Katsuki-kun so blatantly. It had been so forward of him, and Katsuki-kun hadn't seemed to know what to do with it. Then there's the "Eros" short program, which Minami is still trying to handle. It's like he's been kicked in the chest, a whole new side of Katsuki-kun revealing itself right in front of his eyes.

He sleeps restlessly. During warmups, Katsuki-kun ignores him again, and Minami feels like he's just going to crumple in on himself. He skates out onto the ice with shaking knees, trying to breathe and focus, knowing if he screws it up here, he'll never forgive himself.

Then it happens. On one side of the rink, some of the cheering goes quiet, and one voice stands out.

" _Minami-kun, ganba!_ "

Minami feels like his heart is going to stop. He knows it's Katsuki-kun before he even turns to look, and all of the sudden he can breathe again, seeing him behind the boards with his hands cupped around his mouth, screaming his good luck wishes so loudly they echo across the rink.

It makes Minami feel warm and shivery and pleasant. He gives the crowd a smile that feels like the sun is shining out of him, and launches into the best skate of his life.

It doesn't even matter to him that he falls. He's doing his best, and Katsuki-kun is cheering for him. That thought never leaves his mind as his blades dance along the ice. The song is high-energy and fun, just like him, and Minami is doing it justice today.

He doesn't see Katsuki-kun when he comes off the ice, but he's too high on scoring a personal best and showing everyone what he's made of to care. He knows he still doesn't measure up to Katsuki-kun, but he gave his skate his all, and he's satisfied.

When he finally does see Katsuki-kun again, he has a look on his face that makes it hard for Minami to breathe all over again. Katsuki-kun looks so intense, so fierce and determined, that Minami just stands frozen after Katsuki-kun slaps him on the back. He can feel it even though his jacket. It stings, and Minami has a sudden wild hope that his skin will be red when he takes his costume off.

His face is hot, and it gets hotter when Nikiforov strokes his finger over Katsuki-kun's lips. It's... it's so intimate Minami feels like he's intruding, but he can't look away.

The free skate is indescribable. He feels like his soul is on the ice beside Katsuki-kun, flying on every note of his music. "Yuri on Ice" is supposed to be a reflection of Katsuki-kun's life as a skater, and Minami can see all of his struggles in every chord.

It's strange. He's always seen Katsuki-kun's failures as his motivation, but he thinks he's got it wrong. Katsuki-kun pushes himself to be better, but Minami thinks now that he might be _ashamed_ of his failures. There's a slow violin note rising amid Katsuki-kun's music that sounds a little sad. Minami wonders how long he's been hanging on, thinking he has to keep proving himself.

It just means that Katsuki-kun needs his fans more than he thinks he does. Minami steels his resolve as Katsuki-kun's free skate ends. He knows before the scores are even posted that he's lost, but he doesn't care.

"Can I have your autograph?" he asks, half expecting a polite _Well_... and for Katsuki-kun to slip off for interviews.

Instead, Katsuki-kun smiles. Minami's heart nearly stops. He's frozen as Katsuki-kun takes his pen and his journal and signs his autograph.

"Congratulations!" Katsuki-kun says. He looks like he isn't entirely sure what he should say, but he's doing it anyway and the words are like magic.

"I'll do even better!" Minami declares. He's blushing so hard he feels like he might explode. "I'll see you next year in the Grand Prix series!"

He has to last through an entire press conference with Katsuki-kun sitting right beside him, close enough that Minami can feel his body heat bleeding through their Team Japan jackets. Someone asks Minami a question about Four Continents and he stammers a response, only now realizing that if Nationals goes anything like it did last year, he and Katsuki-kun are going to Four Continents _together_.

"I'm sure Minami-kun will do his best. I look forward to representing Japan with him on the team." Katsuki-kun says. Minami hopes that his cheeks aren't as red on camera as they feel.

He makes his escape back to his hotel room as quickly as he can after that, because he's overwhelmed and needs some time. He's still sweaty from the rink, so he runs a shower.

Minami strips off his clothes. He already took off his costume at the rink, and it's in a garment bag waiting to be cleaned. He looks over his shoulder in the mirror and gasps. There is a red mark - like a blurry handprint - right between his shoulder blades. Minami twists around, trying to touch it, but it's just beyond where his arms can reach.

When he steps under the water, naked and keyed up and still floating on the amazing feeling of being acknowledged by his idol, he finally has to admit how his body is reacting to it all.

Minami has never been the type of person who objectifies the people he looks up to. He's admired Katsuki-kun for a long time, and of course some of that is going to be admiration for his physical form, but fantasizing about him had always felt wrong, like it cheapened the way he felt.

He just can't get Katsuki-kun's voice out of his head, how he'd said _ganba_ and _omedetou_ and then _Minami-kun wa zenryoku wo tsukusu_ at the press conference. Even the memory makes Minami feel hot and shivery - and hard.

It feels presumptuous to even think of Katsuki-kun by his first name. Minami tries, just because he feels like it would be awkward to use his surname in bed, but his mind can't even conjure the image of Katsuki-kun touching him. It's clear he and his coach have a very intimate relationship, and Minami is so far out of Katsuki-kun's league it's not even funny.

So he doesn't try to imagine Katsuki-kun's hands on him, just his eyes and his voice. He touches himself, almost timid at first, gasping at how turned on he is. His own touch is enough to nearly make his knees buckle, so he leans on the shower wall for balance.

He feels like he's not going to last long at all, torn between embarrassment at thinking of Katsuki-kun this way and elation at being _noticed_. He thinks of Katsuki-kun watching him now, the same intense look on his face as when he'd approached the rink for his free skate. He thinks of Katsuki-kun telling him again that Minami did a good job, that he'll represent Japan well. He thinks of Katsuki-kun cheering for him, his voice carrying across the rink.

It's ridiculous how good it feels just thinking about those things. It makes his skin feel warm and tingly, a blush rising to his cheeks. Minami bites his lip to contain the little noises he's started making in time with the strokes of his hand, quiet little gasps and moans as he thinks of Katsuki-kun's voice and the way he'd said Minami's name.

He turns around, bracing his hand on the wall and letting the spray of the shower fall right on the stinging spot where Katsuki-kun gave him an encouraging slap on the back. The hot water against sensitive skin burns, and he only has to imagine Katsuki-kun saying _Minami-kun, ganba!_ one more time before he makes a strangled, high noise and comes on the shower wall.

His face is so red it feels like it's going to catch on fire. Minami hastily finishes his shower and scrambles into his pajamas, slipping into bed and hugging one of the overstuffed hotel pillows to his chest. He's never been more embarrassed about getting himself off.

Right before he falls asleep, Minami remembers that in December they'll face each other at Nationals. He shivers, despite how warm it is in the hotel room, and wonders if he'll get to hear Katsuki-kun cheering for him again.


	5. JJ

If JJ hadn't lived his life in northern latitudes, he might call winter in Moscow inhospitable. As it is, he feels pretty much at home. It's not much colder than winter in Montreal, and he has a competition to focus on.

The only big downside to Moscow is that Isabella isn't here. It's getting close to the end of her semester, and JJ just couldn't ask her to fly with him to Russia when she'd already come to Skate Canada. She'll be in Barcelona for the Final, and that's the one that matters.

It means his bed in his hotel room feels too big and too empty, and that he's had to re-familiarize himself with his right hand, but it's worth it for the relief he'd seen on Isabella's face when he'd told her she didn't have to come. She'll be watching the stream, though he hopes she won't stay up too late.

JJ is expecting Plisetsky to give him a fight. The Russian pipsqueak is good, even if his personality reminds him of a cat someone set on fire. He doesn't expect much of a challenge from Crispino - he usually puts in good skates, but he's been weirdly all over the place this season. Nekola has an interesting theme and lands clean jumps, but doesn't fire up an audience the way JJ does. Lee has a solid technical program but falls behind on his artistic interpretation. Plus whoever styled him this season went for 'flamenco parrot' and that's just... not a good look for him.

Katsuki is a wildcard. JJ isn't dumb enough to discard him entirely, not after a silver in China and somehow managing to snare Victor fucking Nikiforov as his coach, but he doesn't think Katsuki is consistent enough to bump him off the podium.

So it's him versus Plisetsky for the gold, as far as JJ is concerned, when warmups start before the short program. He's seen Plisetsky's programs before, and both of them are good - the short program is unexpected, playing on an image that's so contrary to Plisetsky's personality that JJ is sure it was given to him by someone else. The free skate feels more like him, fierce and fast-paced and challenging.

Despite that Plisetsky is his biggest competition, Katsuki is the one that draws his eye. The crystals on the shoulder of his costume keep winking in the light, attracting attention like a flash of starlight. JJ has seen the program it's for, but on a fuzzy low-res livestream from Beijing. Seeing the costume in person, the sensuality of it is more obvious. It bares Katsuki's skin, the mesh allowing just a hint of what lies underneath, and it clings to him so tightly that JJ can see the muscle definition in his thighs every time he pushes off for a jump.

JJ usually watches his competition, because he's not as arrogant as his image makes him out to be, but he can already tell that even if he _wasn't_ competing, he'd be watching Katsuki skate.

The rest of the skaters do put in good programs, but JJ especially pays attention when it's Katsuki's turn to skate. His coach looks like he's getting more attention than Katsuki himself, which isn't surprising when his coach was Russia's pride and joy until the beginning of this season.

It seems like Katsuki doesn't like his coach hogging the limelight. JJ is at the wrong angle to see Katsuki's hand move, but he definitely sees it when he yanks Nikiforov close by his tie, whispering something in his ear that makes Nikiforov turn pink and smirk in return. JJ whistles lowly, impressed. It's a brave man who's willing to manhandle a living legend like that.

Katsuki takes the ice, and JJ leans forward to watch.

He knows this skate is something special from the opening bars of the guitar, from the sinuous twist of Katsuki's body, and from the bold, flirty kiss he blows to his coach before he launches into the step sequence.

JJ is mesmerised. He watches Katsuki's hips twist like he's dancing a tango on the ice, and his eyes are drawn by the little hints of lean muscle he can see through the mesh of Katsuki's costume. JJ is engaged, yeah, but he's not _dead_ , and Katsuki's performance is brimming with the kind of raw desire that makes a guy want to take him up on the invitation he's broadcasting to the rink.

Katsuki looks like the rink is his personal dance floor, his step sequences twisting into smooth jumps and fluid, beautiful spins. JJ wasn't wrong to be interested in his performance - this is Katsuki in rare form, when he might actually be a threat - but it's not for the technical elements that his heart is speeding up and most of the blood it's pumping ends up south of his belt.

He isn't stupid - he knows Katsuki's performance is all for his coach, but that doesn't mean he can't imagine what it would be like if it _was_ an open invitation, and JJ could take him up on it. It startles him - he's always thought of himself as straight, though he guesses now he can revise that to bi-curious, because there's no way on earth he'd turn Katsuki down if given the opportunity.

Those thoughts are dangerous, though, when he's standing at the boards with his parents.

"I'll be back. Bathroom," he says, and ignores his mom's exasperated chiding that he should have gone before the competition started. JJ catches Katsuki's final pose, his face cool and haughty and his arms wrapped around himself like an embrace. Then he scrambles for the bathroom, too aware that he has six or seven minutes maximum before Plisetsky skates off the ice. He'll be missing the kid's short program, but it's not like JJ being at the boards would intimidate him.

JJ finds a bathroom close to the side of the rink and slams the door of the far stall closed. He leaves his Canada jacket on, because he can't get his costume dirty leaning up against a bathroom wall, and drags the zipper of the bodysuit down.

He's already hard in his dance belt. It takes a lot of fumbling and some bitten-off swearing, but JJ finally has the costume out of the way enough to do this without accidentally getting it messy. He braces his shoulders against the stall door and gets ahold of his cock.

With the time constraints, JJ doesn't have the luxury of trying to decide what it means that this is the first time he'll ever jerk off to a guy. Mom will send Dad to come find him if he takes too long, and JJ has to shove that thought back into the pit of Hell where it came from before he loses his hard-on altogether.

JJ concentrates on remembering Katsuki's skate. He closes his eyes and strokes, quick jerks of his wrist that will bring him off fast.

It seems like a shame, though. Katsuki is hot - beautiful, really, much the same way Isabella is beautiful. He thinks of Katsuki's - Yuuri's - slender throat. He should feel bad that it's Yuuri that features more prominently in the fantasy, but jerking off time is no time for moralizing.

Yuuri has his costume on, the one that gives so many hints to the skin underneath. His hips move like he's dancing, his back to JJ's front, his head thrown back against JJ's shoulder. His body is lean and strong, muscular as JJ imagines sliding his hands over the flat plane of Yuuri's stomach and down the thighs that had caught his attention in practice.

In his fantasy there's a glimpse of something more under Yuuri's costume, and as quick as JJ pictures it, Yuuri's costume is gone. In its place he's wearing the cover piece from Isabella's lingerie catalog. It suits him; low-slung panties with ribbon lacing up the back, so JJ can see the perfect dip of his ass. The a lacy bit of scrap he's wearing up top barely covers anything, and it lays flat against his chest - JJ's brain isn't giving Yuuri breasts or anything. Definitely bi-curious.

He works his hand faster over his cock. He's panting, and he can feel sweat gathering on his forehead. He has to finish quick, or he'll have to spend time touching up the makeup. He just feels like he's ruining it, trying to rush it. Yuuri was stunning enough in that costume, with that music, his body shaping the story. The Yuuri of his imagination, even sultrier and sexily made up just for him, is enough to make him want to spend time on this one.

Yuuri throws JJ a hot look over his shoulder and pushes his ass against JJ's dick. JJ's imagination is really good at thinking about how Yuuri's nearly bare ass would feel, soft skin with hard muscle underneath, perfect to grind against.

JJ thinks about wrapping his arm around Yuuri's waist, moving with him as his body moves, rubbing off against his gorgeous ass. He's never really talked to Yuuri, so he can't think of what he might say, but he can imagine pretty little sounds coming from his mouth. JJ grits his teeth and breathes through his nose to stay quiet, hoping the slap of his palm on his dick isn't too loud in the bathroom.

Yuuri runs his hands over his own body. JJ thinks of how he'd linger on the lace edges of the bralette, maybe tease his nipples through the sheer fabric. He pictures Yuuri's fingertips trailing over his muscled thighs, just as mouth-watering out of costume as they are in it. 

He's hard in the panties, and JJ finds himself wanting to see another guy's dick for the first time in his life. His hand tightens around his own cock as he imagines sliding his hand underneath Yuuri's underwear to cup him, too.

JJ imagines Yuuri's moan, imagines how his cock would feel in JJ's hand. A lot like his own, probably, smooth and hard and hot. It's the thought of touching another guy that's doing it for him, especially someone as sexy as Yuuri.

He catches himself thinking how good his come would look on Yuuri's skin a second before he actually comes, picturing it landing on the small of Yuuri's back and dripping over his ass, making a mess of the lacing on his panties. JJ chokes back a groan and hunches over the toilet in the bathroom stall so he doesn't just come everywhere. It's fucking good, warmth all through him and tingling up his spine. He imagines Yuuri's little gasp when he feels JJ's come hit his skin and his dick twitches one last time, trying to come more when there's nothing left to give.

JJ is in a stupor about a minute longer than he should be. The door to the bathroom bangs open. JJ swears and flushes the toilet, fumbling around for toilet paper to wipe his hands before he starts pulling up his costume.

"Are you done?" his dad asks. "Plisetsky is about to finish."

JJ can't believe he managed it in that short of time. He's going to have to file that mental image of Yuuri Katsuki away for a rainy day.

"I'm done, I'm done," JJ says. He bursts out of the stall and washes his hands, spends a quick second checking himself in the mirror, and walks back out to the rink with his dad grumbling about last-minute pit stops. JJ fights to keep his carefree grin in place and a blush off his cheeks.

He's just in time to see Plisetsky's fans throwing stuffed cats and cat ears onto the ice. By some miracle of fantastic fangirl aim, a pair of them land squarely on Plisetsky's head. JJ laughs, and the image chases all lingering thoughts of Katsuki out of his mind before his skate. He should thank the kid, but he looks so pissed off that JJ can't help but mess with him a little.

So he makes a lame joke as he gestures Plisetsky off the ice, gets to see Plisetsky's lip curl in the bitter disgust only a true rival can show, and gets to skate out onto the ice determined again to beat him out for the gold.

He'll think about Yuuri Katsuki later. In his hotel room. When he doesn't have a program to skate and can take all the time he wants imagining red lace against Yuuri's skin.


	6. Victor

Barcelona is beautiful, blanketed with snow and warmed with lights. Victor doesn't notice any of it. As usual, all his attention is stolen by Yuuri, walking hand in hand with him from the cafe back to the hotel.

"So, all this time, you thought I remembered and just didn't want to talk about it?" Yuuri sounds like he can't decide which is worse - the curiosity surely eating him alive, or the prospect of it all being true.

"I didn't know what to think!" Victor laughs. "You invited me to come visit Hasetsu, but then you looked like you'd run away if I so much as talked to you when I got there."

"Poor Victor. You must have been so confused." Yuuri laughs a little himself, like now he's starting to see the humor in the situation when it comes at the expense of Victor's suffering.

"Cruel! You're mocking my pain. I pined for you terribly. I even cried myself to sleep."

Yuuri laughs harder. "You did not."

"No, that part is true. I really did cry to Makkachin that the beautiful boy I'd fallen in love with in Sochi didn't want to have anything to do with me." Victor smiles when Yuuri's face freezes in between laughter and bewilderment. He does that when he isn't sure if Victor is playing with him or not.

"If you did, I... I don't know what to say." Yuuri squeezes his hand. "I didn't know what to make of any of it. To me it's like you showed up out of nowhere, interested in me for some weird reason. I thought you were just having fun."

"Having fun?"

"You know. Flirting with the awkward one because watching him squirm is funny."

"Yuuri," Victor says, stopping and tugging on Yuuri's hand until Yuuri turns to look at him. "That _is_ cruel. You don't think that of me, do you?"

Yuuri shakes his head, his breath puffing out of his mouth in a big cloud of steam. "No, I never really did. It's just one of those thoughts that popped into my mind when I was trying to figure it all out. But I know you're not like that. I knew then, too, I just didn't let myself believe any of it for a while. I didn't see how I could inspire you of all people."

It makes Victor so sad whenever Yuuri does this - talks about himself like he's not worth everything Victor sees in him. Yuuri is beautiful, and determined, and joyful. Victor sees so many things in him that make his love for Yuuri grow by the moment.

"You didn't just inspire me, Yuuri Katsuki," he says, teasing to break the tension of the moment. "I spent so many months remembering how you fit against me while we danced. How your hand felt on my back." Victor steps close, watching Yuuri's cheeks get pinker. "How your breath felt on my cheek."

"Victor," Yuuri protests, looking up and down the street. "That- don't talk about that sort of thing in public!"

"I don't care who knows what I thought about you," Victor says. He leans in close enough to whisper in Yuuri's ear, though, mindful of how easily he gets flustered sometimes. "I used to touch myself when I remembered it."

"Victor!" Yuuri hisses, pulling away from him with his cheeks flaming red. "If you're going to talk like that, wait until we get to the hotel!"

Victor only laughs, following Yuuri as he quickens his pace down the streets of Barcelona, dragging Victor by the hand back to the privacy of their room.

The door shuts behind them and Victor finds himself pressed against it, Yuuri pinning him to the door and kissing him before they even have their coats off.

"Yuuri!" Victor laughs into his mouth, the sound turning breathless and shivery when Yuuri's tongue slides into his mouth.

"Did you really?" Yuuri murmurs, his voice low. It makes a shiver go down Victor's spine.

"Did I what?" Victor has lost all track of anything that isn't kissing Yuuri. He's hot in his coat. He tries to struggle out of it without having to push the weight of Yuuri's body off of him.

Yuuri kisses the side of his jaw, his lips soft. Victor tilts his head back. He loves when Yuuri kisses his neck, loves it more when Yuuri gets into a possessive mood and bites, like now. Victor's arms are tangled in his jacket so he clings to Yuuri's hips, his knees going weak at the feeling of Yuuri's teeth nibbling at the soft skin of his neck, his tongue following.

"Did you think of me when you- ah- did you fantasize about me?"

Victor finds it unbearably cute how Yuuri can't manage to come out and say it, but that's a small feeling. The rest of him has gone from interested to desperately hard.

"Yes. So many times, Yuuri. Sometimes after practice, when I'd spent all day thinking about seeing you on the ice again. Sometimes I'd wake up in the morning and imagine you were there beside me, that you'd come back to my room in Sochi and we could wake up together."

Yuuri pulls away from his neck, his cheeks pink when he looks Victor in the eyes. He's still got a little smile on his lips, and something mischievous in his eyes, like the impulse that had been there earlier today when he told Victor to take him sightseeing.

"You thought about those kinds of things?" Yuuri has a laugh at the back of his voice. "That's a lot more romantic than what I was picturing."

"Of course it was romantic. You swept me off my feet." Victor takes the chance he has to finish getting out of his jacket. He bends down to take off his shoes and sees Yuuri doing the same. His neck still feels sensitive, and he wants Yuuri touching him again.

"Can I-" Yuuri stops before he's asked the question. His tongue wets his lips. Victor stares at his mouth. "Can I see?"

Victor's breath catches. Yuuri's eyes are on him, dark and hot. Victor knows this look. Yuuri is in a mood, and Victor's stomach is fluttering with anticipation.

"You want to watch me?" he asks.

"I want to see what you looked like when you thought of me," Yuuri says, stepping closer. His hands go to Victor's belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from the loops. His fingers slide under Victor's shirt, warm, light pressure against his skin.

"Yes," Victor breathes, and bends his head for another kiss.

Yuuri steps back out of reach, his lips curled up at the corners. "I want to see what you did when I wasn't there. Would you lie in bed?"

"Sometimes." Victor takes the hint, though, shedding the rest of his clothes as he walks to the bed. They'd pushed them together as soon as they got in, too used to sleeping wrapped up in each other. Victor reclines on the mountain of overstuffed hotel pillows.

He's hard. It's strange to be naked while Yuuri is still mostly dressed. The top couple buttons of his shirt are undone and his feet are bare. With his hair tousled, he looks so much like he had in Sochi that it's easy for Victor to imagine for just a second that the last few months haven't happened, and he's still only imagining Yuuri in bed with him.

Yuuri is too present, though, for that to last. His eyes on Victor are like a caress, lingering on his hard cock.

"Show me," Yuuri says softly, like he's still not sure he can ask for these things.

Victor takes his cock in his hand and gives himself a long, slow stroke, rubbing his thumb over the wet slit at the tip before stroking back down. He lingers, drawing it out, making it into a show for Yuuri's benefit.

"I didn't have to wonder much what you'd look like naked," Victor teases, grinning when Yuuri blushes, flustered. "I did used to think about what you'd feel like. I remembered my hand fit so well on your waist - I thought about what it would be like to hold you there, pull you close to kiss."

"You do that now," Yuuri says, his attention rapt on the movement of Victor's hand over his cock.

"Because I finally can. I thought about it so much. I wished I'd kissed you then, maybe while we were dancing. You're such a beautiful dancer."

Yuuri's face looks like it might catch on fire, but he doesn't protest or argue with Victor's compliments like he sometimes does.

"You didn't only think of kissing me," he says, licking his lips when Victor groans.

"No, of course I thought of other things. I remembered how you moved, wondered what it would look like to have you moving above me."

Yuuri moves, shifting around to straddle Victor's thighs. The crotch of his pants is tight over his own erection. "Like this?"

"Well," Victor says. He likes the weight of Yuuri straddling him, but he's greedy. He wants more. "You were always naked."

"Always?" Yuuri's fingers go to the line of buttons on his shirt. It's slow, so teasingly slow that Victor bites his lip and moans again, squeezing his cock tighter around the base to keep from coming too soon. 

Yuuri lets his shirt fall to his elbows and unzips his pants, working them down his thighs until Victor can see a tantalizing glimpse of skin between Yuuri's underwear and his bunched clothes. He looks debauched and playful like this. Victor takes a moment to just admire him.

"Go on," Yuuri says. "What else?"

Victor watches as Yuuri teases the waistband of his underwear down, slow and agonizing. "God, Yuuri. I used to imagine you up here, where I could suck you, my hands all over your ass and your knees squeezing around my ribs. I used to think of what kind of sounds you might make when I did it."

"Victor," Yuuri gasps, like he's surprised that Victor is getting so specific.

"I imagined doing so many things with you." Victor pauses, blushes, because this is something they haven't done yet, something he isn't even sure Yuuri likes. "I thought about it the other way, too. You turned away from me. My hands spreading you open, my tongue on you."

"Oh," Yuuri breathes, leaning down until he's nearly close to kiss.

"I thought it would make you come - I wanted to make you come more than anything. I wanted to see what you looked like when you were enjoying yourself that much. I loved your smile. I wanted to see it all the time."

Yuuri smiles now, inches from Victor's mouth. Victor's other hand is curled in the sheets, his nails pressed into the mattress. He's trying to ground himself, trying not to come so fast. Yuuri isn't even out of his underwear yet.

"Would you fuck me, after?" Yuuri asks. The playfulness is lessened, now. Yuuri surveys Victor like everything he sees is his for the taking. It's true. Victor would give him anything.

"Most of the time you would fuck me," Victor says. He speeds up his strokes. Usually he would roll his hips into his hand, but with Yuuri's knees on either side of his own, he can't.

Yuuri looks surprised. "I thought you didn't-"

"You didn't seem like you wanted to." Victor ends the sentence on a moan, rubbing the palm of his hand over the sensitive head of his cock. It makes him shudder and twitch, pressing up against Yuuri.

"Victor," Yuuri says, finally kissing him, lingering in it. He still doesn't touch, and when he's done sucking on Victor's lip until it feels tender, he slips off of Victor's legs and slides out of his pants.

He's gorgeous. Victor slows down again, lingering on Yuuri's bare legs. He's had those strong, flexible thighs wrapped around his waist and propped up on his shoulders, but he's always thought about the way Yuuri's muscles would bunch when he fucked Victor.

Yuuri pushes Victor's knees apart and crawls between his legs. Victor wants to be touched so badly he feels like Yuuri has left an imprint of his hand on Victor's skin.

"Will you?" Victor's breath comes short at the thought, his cock aching.

Yuuri smiles slowly, his eyes traveling down the length of Victor's body and lingering on the movement of his hand.

"I still want to see you come," he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lip like he's chasing the taste of Victor's mouth. "How did I do it when you imagined it?"

"Slow," Victor manages, amazed he still has the brainpower to speak. "I wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off you. I thought about kissing you in the elevator and stumbling back to my room with my hands under your shirt. But when we got inside, everything would slow down." 

He can move now that Yuuri was between his legs instead of sitting on them. He braces his feet on the bed and lets his legs fall even further open.

"What next?" Yuuri's voice is a whisper. 

Victor drags his eyes up from staring at the line of Yuuri's cock in his underwear to find him watching, his focus intent on Victor. It makes Victor moan, closing his eyes for a moment. He has to focus to regain the memory of the fantasy, because nothing compares to Yuuri being right here in front of him.

"You'd tease," Victor says, flashing a smile before he twists his wrist and rubs his thumb over the head of his cock again. He doesn't know how much longer he can draw this out, not when his skin is prickling under Yuuri's gaze. "You'd kiss me until I pulled you down on the bed. You'd touch me until I begged you to fuck me. I'd imagine you spending so long fingering me open I wanted to cry."

"Is that what you want me to do to you?" Yuuri's tone of voice is dangerous. Victor should have known not to let his mouth run away with him. "You can never keep your hands to yourself, though. I wonder what I could do about that."

Victor has a vivid, beautiful image of himself in ropes tied by Yuuri's hand, helpless to do anything but let him do whatever he wanted to Victor's body. He opens his eyes to see Yuuri still staring at him. All traces of his hesitance are gone. His eyes look hungry, and it's like he senses Victor looking at him, because the next thing he knows that look is leveled at him full force, and Victor can't withstand it.

He comes. The force of it is like the shock of landing a jump, shivering up along his bones and spreading across his skin. He arches off the bed, his head pressed down into the pillows, his legs trembling. It feels incredible, so good he bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

"Oh," Yuuri gasps. Victor keeps his eyes on Yuuri the whole time, and that want never goes away. Yuuri looks at Victor with possession written all over his face, and Victor has never wanted to belong with anyone this much. So much that his chest hurts with it.

He gasps for air like he's forgotten to breathe during his orgasm. Yuuri strokes his hands over Victor's thighs and up his sides, his left thumb just missing a wet splatter of come.

"Should I fuck you now?" Yuuri asks, lowering himself down to his knees and elbows. His breath is on Victor's cock, and that barely present touch makes Victor writhe.

"You can do anything you want with me," Victor says. The ring Yuuri bought him feels heavy and natural at the same time. He wants Yuuri to fuck him, but Yuuri has to skate tomorrow. Maybe he wants to rest.

"You look good, messy like this," Yuuri says. He kisses one of Victor's hipbones, and then the other.

Yuuri tugs his underwear down, exposing his cock one tantalizing centimeter at a time. Victor starts to sit up on his elbows, but Yuuri's hand on his chest pushes him back down. 

"My turn," he says, a little trace of his old blush back on his cheeks. Victor feels like he must be blushing too, because his face feels hot.

"Yuuri." Victor waits until Yuuri's eyes are on his face again, and then stretches his arms above his head, his legs still spread wide. "Come on me."

"Victor!" Yuuri sounds shocked at the suggestion, but he sits up on his knees and takes his cock in his hand anyway. Victor can see how much he wants it because Yuuri is staring at the sticky splashes of Victor's own come on his skin like he's memorizing where every last bit is, so he can be sure to cover it.

Yuuri sucks on his lip. His body is graceful, lean muscle taut as his back arches. His hand moves quick around his cock, his eyes half-closed and still intent on Victor's face.

"Victor," Yuuri moans. He tips his head back and rakes his fingers through his hair. When he's above Victor like this, Victor feels like he needs to worship at Yuuri's feet. Victor has other reasons he loves Yuuri aside from his body, but it never hurts to admire it again.

"I'm never going to get enough of you," he says, not even thinking about what he's saying. "You could stay with me forever and it wouldn't be long enough. Please, Yuuri, make me yours. Come-"

Yuuri chokes out Victor's name and hunches over Victor's body. Victor gasps when the first warm splash of come hits his skin and keeps gasping, the breath knocked out of him by the way Yuuri looks. He's amazing. His legs are shaking and he sways like the force of the orgasm took everything out of him.

Victor knows the feeling.

Yuuri crawls up the bed to lay beside Victor, breathing hard, watching Victor like he's afraid now that the moment is over, Victor will think it was all a terrible idea, what they'd done just now.

Victor kisses him, which usually seems to work to settle that train of thought. It's a satisfied kiss, their tongues lazy against each other. They separate only far enough to look each other in the eyes.

"I can't believe you thought all those things about me," Yuuri says, and Victor laughs.

"You can't? Yuuri, you're beautiful, you're amazing - I'd be surprised if half the people we skate with haven't thought about you in their bed."

"Victor!" Yuuri looks scandalized, and lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. "No way."

"Oh, I have no doubt. Especially after Eros. You're stunning when you skate."

"Stoooop," Yuuri says, but he has a pleased little smile on his face anyway.

Victor will shower in a little while, and will regret having to wash Yuuri off his skin. For now, he loops his arm around Yuuri until his hand rests lazily on Yuuri's back. Yuuri scoots closer, mindful of the mess on Victor's stomach, and puts his head on Victor's shoulder.

"Beautiful," Victor murmurs. "Who wouldn't want you? No wonder I can't keep my eyes away."

Victor kisses Yuuri's cheek and thinks about how kind fate has been to him, that he has Yuuri beside him. It's a dream come true.


End file.
